


There Is No Sweeter Innocence (Than Your Gentle Sin)

by LingeringLilies



Series: Soft Sin [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Sweet Sex, i write sins not tragedies, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LingeringLilies/pseuds/LingeringLilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After discovering Lexa has never gone down on a girl before, Clarke helps calm her adorable mess of a girlfriend in a way only she can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lexa is such a messy bottom I can't deal with her. 
> 
> Half porn, half ~feelings~.
> 
> Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.

“Babe, have you not done this before?”

Lexa freezes with her lips against Clarke’s stomach, feeling caught. She blushes, half in embarrassment that her inexperience is showing, half at the unexpected delight of being called _Babe_. She doesn’t feel like a _babe_ at the moment, unless Clarke meant to call attention to her inexperience.

She’d tried to pass her hesitance off as teasing when Clarke gently urged her down, kissing Clarke’s tummy for long minutes, holding Clarke’s hips as she ran her tongue over skin that wasn’t particularly sensitive. She’d been stalling, trying to figure out how she was supposed to do this without knowing what felt good. Apparently her stalling had been obvious.

Clarke takes Lexa’s silence as an admission.

“Really?”

Lexa keeps her lips pressed to Clarke’s stomach as she gives a little shake of her head and flushes hotter with shame. She’s killed more people than she can count, seen enough blood shed to fill an ocean, and brought warring clans together in alliance. But she’s never used her mouth on a girl.

Brutality, in all its uniformity, is easy. The intricacy of tenderness is not.

Clarke reaches down to cradle Lexa’s head, drawing her back up. Lexa doesn’t want to meet her eyes; she’s worried Clarke will look appalled or laugh or something. But when she dares to meet Clarke’s gaze, all she sees is gentleness and a kind of soft sorrow.

“I just assumed you and…”

Clarke doesn’t finish her sentence, not wanting to spoil the mood.

“We were young,” Lexa says with a timid lift of her shoulder, trying to sound unbothered.

“But you did _some_ stuff, right?”

“Yes. But not that.”

Lexa feels her anxiety flare again. As scared as she is to try pleasuring Clarke with her mouth, admitting she’s never done it before is almost worse.

Clarke drapes Lexa’s hair over her ear and gazes up at her, thinking. She runs her other hand over Lexa’s back in a gesture meant to soothe any embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Clarke says. “It’s not a big deal.”

She lifts her head to kiss Lexa for a second, then drops it back onto the pillow.

Lexa feels the kiss dry quickly on her lips. She wants to believe Clarke, but it _does_ feel like a big deal. What if it’s Clarke’s favorite thing and she’s not good at it? She’s about to ask what Clarke likes when Clarke rocks her hips, tipping her onto the sheets before rolling on top. Clarke bends her head to start kissing Lexa’s neck, her lips even more tender and succulent than before. Lexa is relieved, glad to have a few minutes to collect herself before she tries again.

But Clarke has other plans. She presses her lips beside Lexa’s ear and whispers, hot and ripe, “Can I?”

Lexa feels her whole body quicken, fear and arousal twisting through her limbs, colliding like stars between her legs. Her breath catches for a second and she’s frozen. Clarke waits. Lexa nods, a shaky, quick nod that makes Clarke smile.

Clarke makes her way down Lexa’s neck, covers her breasts with kisses, sucking each nipple. Lexa draws air in heavily, aroused but distracted by the uncertainty of what’s coming. She’s afraid she won’t like it, afraid Clarke won’t enjoy herself, afraid she’ll react in some embarrassing way.

But she doesn’t have time to let her fears take over. Clarke rolls down her body as her mouth drifts lower, passing over Lexa’s stomach with just a few kisses, hair tickling as it drags. She urges Lexa’s legs apart, and Lexa feels dizzy with anticipation. She’s never felt so tingly and hot before, never struggled for air when she wasn’t even being touched. She glances down, seeing the top of Clarke’s head poised right above her center, and quickly looks away. It’s too much to take in at once.

Clarke doesn’t tease or drag out Lexa’s anxiety. She slides her tongue right through Lexa’s center, delicate and tender.

Lexa shudders and gasps. It’s so much softer than she expected, so much warmer and _wetter_. As Clarke’s tongue slides through her again, she makes an involuntary noise, a low yelp of pleasure. Her leg locks and her hips shift up the bed an inch, moving her sensitive center farther from Clarke’s mouth, which is definitely not what she wants. She’s already reduced to impulse and reaction.

As though to test just how delirious Lexa can get, Clarke fits her mouth over Lexa’s center and forms a soft seal, running her tongue through.

Lexa’s hand flies up to her mouth to stifle a feral moan. She feels the corners of Clarke’s mouth twitch up without breaking the seal. Clarke presses her chin forward, sliding her tongue inside as she curls her hands around Lexa’s thighs, drawing them up beside her head, fitting her face perfectly between Lexa’s legs.

Her suction is gentle and her tongue moves slow, but Lexa’s breathing escalates rapidly. When Clarke circles Lexa’s clit, Lexa gasps and tenses, thighs tightening for a second before she forces them open, not wanting to trap Clarke or seem too eager. Clarke gives her an encouraging squeeze.

Lexa has _never_ felt this good. Not the first time she touched herself, not the first time she made Costia come, not the first time she had sex with Clarke. She’s never felt so flung open and joyful, so tender and cherished and rapturous. She forgets what weight feels like, forgets any discomfort or pain her body has known, forgets the fear she had only moments ago.

This is bliss.

Clarke’s mouth pressing into her, licking into her, drawing her up to pleasure she couldn’t fathom before.

Everything inside her is twisting and writhing in the most delicious way. She puts her hand on Clarke’s head, not to steer or force her, but to let her know how much she appreciates what Clarke is doing. Clarke seems surprised, letting out a short hum as she works her lips and tongue through Lexa.

But then the universe tilts and something feels off. Lexa is gasping for air, dizzy and disoriented. The dizziness starts to overtake her; she can’t feel her hands or feet and she’s dipping toward something gray and unpleasant, something too chaotic to feel good. This isn’t an orgasm or anything good approaching. She feels like she’s dangling on the edge of consciousness, terrified and helpless. Her hand tenses in Clarke’s hair and she lets out a wavering squeak as she cringes and twists. She’s not sure what’s happening, but she feels more scared than good.

Clarke looks up, seeing discomfort on Lexa’s face. She lifts her mouth, brushing it against Lexa’s thigh.

“You okay?”

Lexa isn’t sure how to answer that. She _was_ okay, but now she’s so overwhelmed she can’t talk. She needs all her energy to suck in air. Her lungs can’t seem to fill all the way.

Clarke slides up her, concerned and confused.

“What’s going on?”

Lexa bites her lips and shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You don’t like it?” Clarke asks, brushing hair off Lexa’s face.

Lexa lets out a few shallow breaths, swallowing to try to bring herself back into the bed away from whatever gray chasm she was dangling over.

“I got really dizzy,” she manages to gasp.

Clarke’s hand is on her cheek then, brow furrowing as she watches Lexa pant.

“You’re okay,” Clarke assures her. “I've got you.”

Lexa’s breathing slows a little, but Clarke’s concern doesn’t lift. She leans forward with a determined kiss meant to reassure Lexa.

Finally, Lexa lands back in bed, body loosening. Clarke’s mouth has grounded her. She softens into the kiss, letting Clarke’s tongue flick past her lips.

The taste is new. It’s her, she knows, and she’s not sure she’s supposed to like it, but she does. It’s a little coppery, a little musky, a little sweet. Mixed with the regular flavor of Clarke’s mouth, she finds herself lifting up to taste as much as she can.

“You like that?” Clarke says, soft and only a little teasing.

Lexa nods.

Clarke kisses her again, short but sucking. “Me too.”

Lexa feels tingly all over again.

Clarke breaks their kiss, looking down at Lexa with returned concern now that she’s settled. “What happened?”

Lexa sighs. “I got dizzy and felt like I was falling.”

“You were breathing pretty hard. Maybe you were hyperventilating.”

Lexa doesn’t know what that means - Clarke uses all kinds of medical words she doesn’t know - but it sounds probable.

“Next time I’ll go slower,” Clarke says.

Lexa feels a little frown form in her chest, disappointment at the words “next time.” As frightening as that panic attack was, leading up to it was the most divine minute of her life. She doesn’t want that to be all for the evening.

She traces Clarke’s biceps with her fingers, wondering how to let her know. It feels silly to ask out loud - and to be honest it’s a little embarrassing - but it’s her only option.

“Can you try again?”

Clarke studies her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Lexa nods. Now that she knows what to expect, maybe she won’t spiral into oblivion so quickly.

Clarke seems a little reluctant on account of her worry, but agrees. “Okay. Just tell me if you start to get dizzy. And try to pace your breathing.”

Lexa nods again. She knows what to do if she wants to stop. Hopefully she won’t want to.

Clarke slides down Lexa’s body again, pressing more kisses to her tummy this time, drawing Lexa’s legs up over her shoulders. She kisses the inside of Lexa’s thighs, which feels nicer and more exciting than Lexa expected. When her tongue connects again - even softer and more delicate than before - Lexa feels all the tension leave her body with one soft, relieved breath.

This is what it means to be loved. To have all the secret, sacred parts of her embraced and cherished no matter how she might fear they’ll be received.

She feels her whole body warm with excitement as Clarke dips her tongue delicately inside, not forming a seal with her lips yet, but licking through Lexa with care. The only thing Lexa doesn’t like about this is how far away Clarke is from her, how she can’t kiss her and touch her cheek as she lifts and falls through the swells of pleasure. Her hand reaches by her hip, and without looking up, Clarke clasps it, anchoring her, assuring her she’ll be back up to kiss her soon.

Lexa squeezes her hand and exhales, making sure her breaths are measured and steady.

Clarke paces herself, gently working Lexa up. She finds a special spot that seems to be Lexa’s favorite and licks at it, loving the shivers she can feel in Lexa’s body. As minutes pass and Lexa starts making sweet little noises of pleasure - little gasps and soft groans and pants - Clarke lets the pace increase, adding light suction and more persistent laps of her tongue. Lexa tries not to squirm too much, squeezing Clarke’s hand when something feels good and she wants more.

Lexa feels it approaching. She’s encouraged by how normal it feels, how recognizable her climax is even in this new experience. She wonders if she ought to tell Clarke, but figures Clarke probably knows. The signs are all there: her legs get restless, her breathing jagged, and her stomach muscles start to clench as she prepares to hold onto reality as best she can.

The swell builds and builds and builds and Lexa tries not to tense too much around Clarke’s head. She gasps, then holds her breath waiting for it to break; gasps again, smiling as she holds on; one final breath, and there’s the tipping point, the start of the freefall. She can’t help that her hand jerks in Clarke’s against the sheets and her hips dig into the bed as she goes rigid. Clarke stays fixed to her, tongue steady and insistent, lapping through her as she rolls and vaults and bursts. It’s stronger and longer than ever before.

She breaks through and her gasps start to heave. Once her eyes are open, she sees colors more saturated, hears noises more clearly, and every touch is intensified. Clarke is still fixed to her, lips softening as her tongue slows.

If Lexa had enough air to spare for words, she would praise Clarke.

The aftershocks waft through her into Clarke’s gentle mouth until she feels the last pulse echo through her. She tugs at Clarke’s hand, pulling her back up. Clarke lifts her face and wipes her chin, grinning as she slides her warm body up, anchoring Lexa to the bed. She lets go of Lexa’s hand and brushes her hair away from her face.

“Better?”

It’s a little cocky, but Lexa loves it. She’s still breathless, so she just gives a blushing smile and closes her eyes for a second. Clarke leans down and starts kissing her again, damp chin pressing into Lexa’s. They kiss and kiss and kiss until Lexa can’t taste much of herself in Clarke’s mouth.

Lexa feels like she could exhale in relief and happiness for hours.

But Clarke doesn’t settle onto her like she expects. She keeps nuzzling and kissing her, rocking into her gently, kissing every patch of skin she can get to. Lexa realizes Clarke needs some relief. She stills Clarke’s head, drawing her up, giving her a flirtatious smile. She kisses her deeply for a moment, then hums, “Your turn.”

Clarke seems surprised, leaning down to kiss Lexa with even more enthusiasm before rolling onto her side, then onto her back. Lexa follows her, loving how solid and soft Clarke is beneath her.

She would ask Clarke to tell her what she likes, but she doesn’t want to talk about it in such practical terms. She wants to feel it, to understand with her body what works and what doesn’t. She’s pretty sure Clarke can’t explain it to her that way.

She’s not nearly as nervous as she trails her way down Clarke’s body. As much as she loves to lavish Clarke’s breasts and stomach with attention, she’s determined not to seem hesitant or tease when Clarke has been so patient and understanding. She slides right down, imitating what Clarke did, trying not to pause too long as she looks at the places she’s touched but never studied.

The first lick is tentative and hopeful. She hopes she got the tension right, that her tongue is soft but present, that she’s applying enough pressure to be felt but not so much that it doesn’t feel good. Clarke’s taste spreads over her tongue, mixing with the traces of her own still left. She knows Clarke with all five senses now, and she’s never loved her more.

She keeps exploring, finding grooves and crevices her fingers can’t detail for her. Lexa never imagined there would be so many textures in such a small space. Her tongue explores them all, from the tenderest inner parts to the stiffer components at the top. Just when she thinks she’s found a groove that will set Clarke off, something shifts and she has to explore elsewhere. It’s a whole world she doesn’t know in the space of a few inches.

Clarke’s breathing is audible, sometimes with an undertone of hum or groan. Her noises are deeper and more grounded than Lexa’s. She rocks her hips up into Lexa when Lexa does something she likes; it’s the most instant and gratifying reinforcement. Lexa hadn’t imagined that even with her head buried between Clarke’s legs she would feel so close and connected to Clarke’s mind.

Clarke reaches down to cradle the side of Lexa’s face. Lexa glances up and sees Clarke is spread out in the most delicious way; her free arm rests beside her on the pillow, her head turned to the side, eyes closed in bliss as she pants and rocks into Lexa. Lexa has always admired how present Clarke is in her body, and never more so than now. Lexa loves how Clarke experiences pleasure with no fear or reservations, as though she knows she deserves every good thing in the world. 

Lexa finds a few spots that have Clarke bucking softly into her, breath gusting when her tongue hits it just right. As Clarke starts climbing higher, tensing as she approaches climax, Lexa grips her legs just like Clarke did. She doubles her efforts, feeling her tongue start to tire. She ignores it, determined, and when Clarke’s hips start to twist and her breathing turns whiny and jagged, she knows she’s figured it out. She’s found some combination, some rhythm or key to giving Clarke all the love and adoration and gratitude she can’t seem to verbalize. Now her mouth can give those things in another way. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, filling her lungs with Clarke, wondering if heaven could possibly be better than loving a woman this way.

Clarke flinches for a moment, then careens through her climax with a groan that grates through her throat for long seconds. Lexa stays concentrated on what her mouth is doing, remembering the placement of her tongue and the softness of her lips that led to this. She wants to remember everything.

Clarke shakes a little bit as she pulses down, quivering in a way Lexa hasn’t felt before. Clarke’s hand grows shaky as she grips Lexa’s hair, pulling her up. Lexa settles on top of her like a blanket, warm and enveloping, wanting to quell whatever quakes inside Clarke until she is left with nothing but bliss. She kisses her, gentle and deep, hoping Clarke likes her taste as much as she does.

When Clarke breaks to exhale, Lexa’s smiling. She can’t believe she was so worried about knowing what to do. It was easier than learning what to do with her hands; her lips were more reactive and adoring than her searching and tentative fingers.

Clarke lets out a final groan of disbelief and exhaustion. Lexa hears the noise as praise and her grin spreads as a soft giggle dances through her. She leans down to peck Clarke on the lips one more time.

Clarke sighs, opening her eyes at last as she whispers, “Sure you’ve never done that before?”

Lexa folds into her, purring, certain that love is the grandest thing in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

“I want to try something.”

Clarke lifts Lexa’s hips, urging her to scoot toward the head of the bed. Lexa looks down, her face an open question as she's guided by Clarke’s hands. When she’s close enough to touch the headboard and Clarke slides down the pillow, fear passes over her as she realizes what Clarke wants.

Clarke adores that look, the sweet anxiety Lexa has over what her body will do when faced with some new kind of touch she hasn’t felt yet. Clarke may have been isolated on the Ark, unfamiliar with all things green and earthen, but it’s nice to know there are things that are new to Lexa.

Clarke loves to watch Lexa have new experiences. New foods, new words, new people. Lexa receives each new thing with curiosity and gentleness, if not a touch of uncertainly. But most of all Clarke loves to watch Lexa experience her body in new ways.

Clarke feels Lexa tremble as Lexa looks down at her.

Clarke gives her a squeeze of reassurance. “You like this when you’re on your back, right?”

It’s a reminder, not a question.

Lexa gives a shaky nod. She _does_ like it. Though it's often overwhelming, it’s her favorite thing Clarke does to her when they make love.

But it's a new feeling, kneeling naked with her legs spread. She can feel the air of the room all around her, feel how exposed she is. There's nothing about her Clarke can't see, no pillows to hide her face in, no way to fling her arm over her eyes to hide tears.

Clarke wraps her hands around Lexa’s thighs and gives a fleeting smile as she urges Lexa down.

Clarke has already teased her for long enough that Lexa is warm and heavy with want. She's so sensitive, she knows the softest brush of Clarke's tongue might make her hips jerk. She doesn’t trust her legs to glide down without jamming her hips into Clarke's jaw or accidentally knocking into Clarke's nose. As delicate and vulnerable as Lexa feels, she still feels like too much for Clarke.

She's not sure how this works; does Clarke lift her head an inch, ensuring she's never smothered or trapped against the bed? Or is Lexa supposed to really _sit_ , putting her full weight down?

Clarke's hands over her thighs tug her gently down, urging her to come to rest fully. It seems too much.

"S'okay," Clarke assures her.

Lexa looks down at Clarke's face, her chin obscured between her legs. Clarke tilts her head to kiss the inside of Lexa's thigh. Lexa trembles, biting her lip as she looks down doubtfully.

But she trusts Clarke. Clarke wouldn't suggest something dangerous. At least not in bed.

Clarke's hands grip Lexa more tightly and pull her down harder until Lexa feels her center meet Clarke's lips, her nose brushing right at her clit.

Lexa's stomach muscles contract at the sensation, forcing her breath out in a gust of air. There's something different about this position. Some things are the same as when she's on her back: Clarke's mouth feels the same, the same warm breath gusts out over her mound as Clarke breathes through her nose. Yet everything feels sharper and heavier and more intense. She's swimming already, and Clarke hasn't even settled into a pattern through her.

Clarke always closes her eyes after the first few licks, and Lexa wonders if she's floating away or sinking deeper.

Lexa drags in a breath and it shivers out right away, sounding somewhere between a sigh and a whine. She's still getting used to such gentleness and care. She finds herself wavering, trying to figure out what to do with her arms. Her hands are already shaking.

She stares down at Clarke, who still has her eyes closed as she tastes Lexa, drawing her tongue into the tenderest spot, the one she found a few days ago, the spot Lexa didn't even realize was her favorite. Lexa whimpers and reaches for something to grab; she doesn't want to hold Clarke's head, trapping her even more than she already is, and the sheets and pillows are just out of reach.

Clarke opens her eyes, looking up at Lexa, trying to smile without changing her mouth. Her brow relaxes and her next lick is deeper. Lexa trembles, feeling unmoored in her upright position, worried she won't be able to sustain it.

Clarke tips her chin up just enough that Lexa knows to lift off for Clarke to breathe.

"Good?"

Lexa gives a shaky nod, mesmerized by the sight of Clarke beneath her. Clarke is so trusting and steady, and when she pulls Lexa back down, her mouth is more fervent.

As her body escalates, Lexa tilts forward and lets more of her weight come to rest on Clarke. She feels her body curl, needing more despite being so inundated with adoration.

She catches herself on the headboard, gripping it as a noise of pleasure is pulled from her. She feels Clarke smile, cheeks pressing into her thighs as she continues the soft lapping of her tongue.

It doesn't take much to work Lexa up. If Clarke had less tact, she might tease her about it. But as long as Lexa feels good, Clarke is satisfied.

Lexa's fingers dig into the carving of the headboard, feeling the roughness against the inside of her knuckles, the sharp edges in stark contrast to Clarke's mouth. She tilts her hips, trying not to press Clarke into the bed, angling herself so Clarke's tongue glides right over where she most wants it. Another timid, shaky moan escapes.

"Clarke," she whimpers.

Clarke doesn't respond other than to continue licking through her. She is meditative, immersed in her work of bringing Lexa to release with her lips.

A few gasps escape Lexa's mouth, sounding like the beginnings of words she can't form. Her skin and belly are taut, her feet curled, her hands gripping the headboard desperately. Clarke's hands have started roaming her thighs and backside, gripping in encouragement.

Lexa looks down at the serene determination on Clarke's face and feels herself start to bear down, feels the wave building to crash. Her muscles start to clench and she feels Clarke’s grip tighten, encouraging her.

Right as she starts to tumble over, Clarke’s eyes fly open to meet hers, wide, joyful, wondrous as Lexa curls, breath stopped and mouth open. Clarke stops breathing and the moment is suspended in total quiet.

Then it bursts and Lexa cries out.

Lexa’s shaking changes, and she feels something push up into her eyes. Tears start to spill over. She can’t believe this is real, that Clarke is still here, that they’ve been given the grace of each other night after night after night.

As soon as she can, Lexa lifts off, feeling like her pulsing, quaking body is too much to put on one person. Clarke tries to hold her there, giving little kitten licks to her sensitive center, but Lexa shifts up. She keeps her hold on the headboard, needing to be anchored to something.

Clarke sees her tears right away.

“Hey…” she coos.

It makes Lexa cry harder, to be met with such tenderness. She wishes she didn't cry so often.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmurs, hands rubbing at the back of Lexa’s thighs.

Lexa sniffles and lets go of the headboard to wipe her cheek. She maneuvers away, trying not to ram Clarke’s face with her knee. She sits against the headboard, still quivering.

Clarke sits up, reaching for Lexa. Lexa’s tears start anew as Clarke draws her naked body into her lap.

“It’s okay to cry.”

Lexa squeezes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Of course it is,” Clarke says. “Unless it’s because you’re unhappy about something I did.”

Lexa’s eyes fly open, worried that Clarke could think such a thing.

“I am the opposite of unhappy.”

Clarke’s hand sweeps over her damp back and Clarke presses a kiss to her forehead. “I believe the word for that is _happy_.”

Lexa presses her head to Clarke’s collarbone. She feels the stick of her forehead to Clarke’s skin. It’s warm. Almost too warm.

Lexa is confused; she never thought being happy would involve so much crying.

And yet as Clarke holds her and she stops shaking and goes warm in every nook of her body, she feels as though her tears served a purpose; just as her body let go, so did something else. The part of her that feels compelled to be stern and fearsome and ruthless has been laid to rest for a while.

She takes a calming breath, bringing her hand up to trace Clarke’s collarbone.

And though she has to swallow a few times and the words feel choked - almost like she doesn’t think she should be allowed to say them - she says them anyway. “I’m happy, Clarke.”


End file.
